The sudden gust sent chills through me. I pulled the edges of my coat closer for a bit of protection from the cold, not that it did much. Before us, the overturned car had sunk into the damp earth. Mud crept through the broken windows and began to overtake the roof. I sighed long and hard, watching our breath coiling through the air like smoke.

  “Sinkholes,” Gabe muttered.

  I straightened up from a crouch. Gabe mirrored me by my side. If we needed a cue to leave, that would do. I forgot about the unsteady ground in the quarantine zone. The roads around the area reopened around the same time the subway system began construction. When the subway station began to collapse, the station was closed, but many of the surrounding roads were still open to anyone willing to try their luck. They were poorly maintained, if maintained at all, but not everyone was patient enough to go the long way round if these streets stood between them and their destination.

  “Ethan, get a crane over here, or we’re not going to have a lot to work with,” I said, calling him on my Iris.

  Laying the dead to rest was just a part of the job, but sometimes my personal life crossed over into my work. This wasn’t the first or the last time I’d see some departed lowered into the ground, ceremoniously or otherwise. Images of my father’s funeral fleeted to the surface, and I crushed my eyes shut to keep the dead where they laid deep down underneath.

  “I’ll have it done,” Ethan said.

  “What do you have on him?” I asked.

  “Not much, but I’m working on it,” Ethan sighed. “Did you find anything?”

  I circled the car a few times, checking for damage.

  “Just first impressions,” I said. “First of all, the seatbelt held tight.”

  “Long enough for him to die staring at the dashboard,” Gabe said.

  “Held him long enough to get rearranged,” I muttered, dryly. “Maybe in more ways than one.”

  With enough ingenuity, you could probably bind your own hands and set your car to autopilot, but there was no reason to assume he had done any harm to himself. All signs pointed to foul play for now. From the way his body was bent, I suspected multiple fractures, some more severe than others. There were also various cuts and lacerations to account for. It was too early to blame them all on the crash. We’d need to wait until the autopsy cleared.

  “I’m running the plates and fingerprints,” Ethan said. “Should be done soon enough.”

  I glanced over at Gabe.

  “Wasn’t going to stand around doing nothing waiting for you to show up,” he grinned.

  “Glad to know I didn’t slow you down,” I said.

  There was a bit of truth in my remark. As much as I knew I shouldn’t live for my job, I always did anyway. Maybe I didn’t know where it stopped and I began. It was the price you paid for being raised to strive endlessly for approval you would never receive. I always had to hold up the bar, chasing a perfect always just out of arm’s reach. Any second it dipped, I lost my footing, and in those moments, I lost myself too.

  “Do we know why he crashed?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but I might have a lead you can look into,” Ethan said.

  “I’ve got some ideas too,” Gabe said.

  “Let’s start with the car,” I said.

  The ordinary sedan wouldn’t raise any eyebrows anywhere. It was modest. If I had to guess, I’d hazard it was an economic model, and the signs of wear meant it wasn’t purchased recently. These days, even the bottom-of-the-barrel models could detect obstacles and avoid collisions automatically. Fancier models could drive entirely independently of a human driver. The reason Gabe and I bothered to drive manually was out of preference, not necessity. I always felt more at ease with that little bit of control; it made the road feel like an extension of my own hands.

  “Was it set to autodrive?” I asked.

  “Possibly,” Ethan said. “In any case, if it wasn’t, it should have kicked in when he started going off the road.”

  “Think somebody messed with it?” Gabe asked.

  “Anyone close could have accessed it the same way he did,” Ethan said. “With his key.”

  Whoever killed him did it with showmanship in mind. This wasn’t just a crime scene; it was a grand display. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again. Nathan Ming was taken out by people he once called friends. Whenever anyone was killed with this much pomp and flair, it meant one of two things: either they knew the poor bastard or they were trying to send a message.

  “Someone’s trying to get our attention,” I said.

  A notification popped up on the edge of our Irises. A photo, a name, and neat rows of text down the side flashed before our eyes.

  “Fingerprints and plates match,” Ethan said. “As a primary analysis, the man is likely Terrell Renner.”

  Fingerprints could be forged. Even dental records could be falsified. Cosmetic enhancements have gone from the realm of the rich and famous to the mundane and ordinary. He didn’t look the type, but I knew better than to judge a book by its cover. I didn’t get this far without knowing that anyone could be anyone and anything was possible.

  “Forty-five. Cybersecurity specialist, married. No priors,” Ethan said.

  “Clean record doesn’t mean much,” Gabe said.

  “What about the wife?” I asked.

  “Sara Renner,” he said. “Nothing stands out about her. The metro police will notify her unless you want to take that job.”

  I felt a tremor travel through my soul. Notifying the family was the worst part of the job. My boundaries were porous. I absorbed their pain like a sponge and carried grief that didn’t belong to me. I was primed from a young age to walk on eggshells around my temperamental mother. Maybe she had her own demons to fight. Either way, I learned to shake with anger that wasn’t mine and mourn the loss of things I’d never had.

  “I’ll pass,” I said.

  The crane had arrived. A strong mechanical whine announced its presence as its wheels crunched hard gravel. Every artificial sound echoed off the empty buildings around us, shrinking the space and making it feel more claustrophobic. My lungs felt constricted in my chest.

  “Lana, get ready. Mrs. Renner will be called in to identify the body soon. It’ll be a good chance to chat with her,” Ethan said.

  “Cozy,” I muttered.

  The line clicked, and silence returned. There was no rest for the wicked. Crime didn’t wait for anyone to catch their breath; we couldn’t wait for the grieving widow to get her bearings first. Cases like this moved fast, just like everything else in this city. The longer we waited, the less we’d have to work with. Evidence always washed away. Memories always faded. Any traces left behind could be purged by bad actors or the indifferent forces of time and nature.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A mechanical whine filled the air, and the vehicle, safely attached, lifted into the air. Inside it, the corpse lazily swayed from where it hung, still belted into place. The sensitive removal process would be done from above, not down here in the mud. I didn't envy whoever did that job either. A lot of work was ugly, but it had to be done. So many invisible people kept this city running day in and day out.

  "Don't worry about it," Gabe said, slapping me on the back. "We'll find what we're looking for."

  "We always do," I grinned bitterly.

  Now with that out of the way, it was time to survey the area. With the early setting of the winter sun, darkness quickly sat around us. It would have been difficult to see if not for the night vision built into our Irises. They were both a blessing and a curse. Just as gaslights increased working hours, so did every subsequent invention that allowed us to toil late into the night.

  "We should canvass the area," I said, already climbing back up the slope. “There might be clues the rain didn't wash away."

  “Covered places,” Gabe said, nodding. “Think we should try our luck over there.”

  He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating one of the unfinished high-rise buildings encircling the small clearing.

  “Is it safe enough to enter?" I asked.

  Scaffolding still lined the outer walls, but in some areas, it was almost complete. It would have been the first one finished if this area hadn’t begun to collapse and forced their hand. Every project here was abandoned. What a waste.

  "What did Ethan have to say about it?" I asked.

  "Not to get ourselves killed trying our luck on the others," he said.

  I could get on board with that. I wasn't about to risk my life over a little bit of rubble if I didn't have to. Everything here was on its last legs. They looked like block towers ready to collapse the minute we took a wrong step.

  Inside, the damp concrete smelled of mold, urine, and waste. The pungent aroma wasn’t the only sign of life. It became clear immediately that squatters had called this place home. However, whoever was here had chosen to vacate the premises before we showed up. I breathed a sigh of relief and drew my gun from its holster. Just like no one wanted to be booted from their home, interrogated, or blamed for something they had no part in, I didn’t want to be caught off guard with an assailant without my weapon drawn.

  I didn’t need to tell Gabe to keep his eyes peeled either. We cleared each room one by one. Each one was as empty as the last. Broken booze bottles and drained ether devices littered the floor among the other trash and debris.

  "Poor bastards might've been too juiced up to tell their left from their right," Gabe said.

  “If we don’t have to, we should leave them out of this. They have their own battles to fight already,” I said.

  Harsh lives lead to tragic ends. Did the ends justify the means when the alternative was starvation, or worse yet, withdrawal? The lost and disenfranchised often acted in desperation to live to see another day and numb the pain that came with their continued survival. Their activity often collided with our work. Sometimes they were the victims. Sometimes they were perpetrators.

  Two flights up, we came to a hard stop. Our path upwards had probably caved in years ago. A thick layer of dust covered the top of the stairway. A faded memorial was scrawled on an adjacent wall. There were no names or faces, only words with a deep sense of longing and a plea for someone to come back. Instead of ruminating on events unrelated to the case, we headed for the windows.

  "Looks like a good place to watch the show," Gabe said.

  From above, everything looked so small and distant. There was a sense of insignificance in that revelation. A chill ran through my body, but I shook those thoughts away. With my head back in the game, I took note of the crime scene. The road and the ditch were both clearly in view. He wasn’t wrong; anyone watching from here would have front row seats.

  Satisfied with my analysis of the window, I turned my attention back to the interior. Just like the other spaces, there were spaces with clear foot traffic and signs of human habitation interspersed between long-abandoned items. Recency would not be enough reason to go through every spot. In all likelihood, most of the evidence here would point to clueless bystanders. We’d be like dogs chasing our own tail if we moved aimlessly.

  "There's too much here; we'll never get through it on our own," I muttered.

  We needed a strategy. After all, there was no guarantee that our killer even passed through this building. However, somewhere deep in my gut, I felt it. There was something for us here if we could find it. What we wanted wasn’t just newer and fresher, but a different beast entirely. Who among those here was not just a lost addict hoping for a dry place to rest their head? Careful arrangements, cleaned spaces, and conspicuously open spaces were all fair game.

  In the far corner by the windows, a broken table leaned against some exposed wooden beams. It was inconspicuous at a glance, but looks were deceiving. Despite the garbage littered around it, there was a sense of methodicalness to it. Something about it screamed: ‘Don’t look at me, there’s nothing to see here.’ Along the bottom where it touched the ground, dust had been scraped out of the way. Someone was hiding something.

  Maneuvering our way through to the back, we quickly dislodged it from where it lay. Behind it was a small section of an unfinished wall. The space between the wooden beams looked too tight for a grown man but more than generous enough for someone slender to fit through.

  Mercy was emaciated, determined, and deceptively powerful. It would have been no trouble for her to climb through. I'd gained back a bit of muscle since my appetite died with my father. Gabe, on the other hand, wouldn't stand a chance.

  "Stay here," I said. "I'll take a look."

  He nodded.

  “I’ll stand guard,” he said.

  The fit was tighter than I expected, and my coat snagged on the head of a nail. Although the shape of the opening wasn’t a problem, the way it was situated against the corner left a small gap with a sharp angular turn. I held my breath and leveraged my weight. With one final push, I got on through.

  Inside, it was big enough to fit an adult laid across the floor and a pack of supplies. If I stood, I would have hit my head against the low ceiling, but someone shorter than me would have found this space much more comfortable. Silvery spiderwebs stretched across the edge, glimmering in the low light. Dead center, caught in the webs, was a strand of long black hair. Unlike mine, it was thin and pin straight. I bagged it up to take back to the lab.

  "Got something," I said. Looks like our copycat left behind some hair."

  "Think she'd be that sloppy?" Gabe asked.

  "Who knows, but if our killer isn't Mercy, they're trying very hard to make us think they are," I said.

  After clambering back out the way I'd come, I straightened up and dusted off my trench coat.

  "Let's get the grunts working over the rest of the space," I said. "We don't have time to go over everything."

  Gabe whistled in agreement.

  "Let’s run some background on this guy," he said. "Renner's wife finally reported him missing. That's gotta be a sign."

  "Good thinking, we should see what we can get before we meet with her,” I said. “We don't want to put the poor woman through the ringer if she didn't have anything to do with it."

  In cases of murder, the first suspect was always the surviving spouse. Love was strong enough to kill. I'd seen my fair share of alligator tears from guilty widows. Which ones were innocent and which ones loved enough to take them out if they couldn’t have them was up to us to decide. In this case, all signs were pointing to extremism, but you couldn't ever be too careful. No one ever has more access to a man's inner world than the one they slept next to every night. The opportunities were endless.